But you dont think he went home, do you?
No, I dont, Sean confirmed. What have you turned up?
Well, from a criminal records point of view, Helliers as clean as a whistle. Not even a parking ticket, as far as I can tell. Hes been working at Butler and Mason for a few years now; before that he was working for some American company in New York, and prior to that he worked in Hong Kong and Singapore.
Where dyou get all that from? Sean asked, impressed.
I Googled him, Donnelly answered with a wry smile. Technology. Our greatest friend and our greatest enemy. Oh, and I called a pal of mine at Revenue and Customs-asked for a cheeky favor. As far as theyre concerned, hes legit. Since being back in the UK hes paid his taxes on time and up front, no problems.
Sean looked disappointed, although he hadnt really expected anything else. With his taste in after-work pleasures youd think hed be a little bit shy about plastering his face all over the Internet, Sean suggested.
No photographs, Donnelly told him. Lots of info, but no photographs.
Hes a careful one, Sean said. Just like whoever killed Graydon. Very careful.
Plenty of people working in the financial sector have taken their mug shots off the Internet since the banking crisis.
Yeah, but Helliers a financier, not a banker.
Guvnor, Donnelly reminded him, we live in a country where seventy percent of the population dont know the difference between a pedophile and a pediatrician.
Sean sighed. A good point well made. He rubbed his eyes hard enough to make them water before rummaging in his desk drawers for painkillers. What about the others who were with him on the night he was killed? he asked without looking at Donnelly.
Most have come forward now or been traced, Donnelly answered, but nothing interesting. One or two are known to police, but all for minor stuff. Weve gathered a small mountain of forensics and fingerprints for comparisons, so you never know.
Maybe, but Im not feeling particularly lucky right now, Sean sighed. What about our two missing persons? he asked. What were their names again?
Sean sighed. A good point well made. He rubbed his eyes hard enough to make them water before rummaging in his desk drawers for painkillers. What about the others who were with him on the night he was killed? he asked without looking at Donnelly.
Most have come forward now or been traced, Donnelly answered, but nothing interesting. One or two are known to police, but all for minor stuff. Weve gathered a small mountain of forensics and fingerprints for comparisons, so you never know.
Maybe, but Im not feeling particularly lucky right now, Sean sighed. What about our two missing persons? he asked. What were their names again?
Steven Paramore and the barman, Jonnie Dempsey. Weve checked at the home addresses of both. Paramores mum says he hasnt been home for a few days now and Jamess flatmates are saying the same about him.
Untraceable suspects, Sean complained. Thats all I need.
Maybe thisll cheer you up. Donnelly grinned as he dumped the heavy pile of papers hed been holding on Seans desk.
Sean spread his arms in protest. Whats this?
Witness statements so far, completed actions, and other assorted shit that you ought to read. Superintendent Featherstone wants a full briefing in the morning.
Sean sank deep into his chair, all thoughts of home comforts slipping farther and farther away. It was going to be another long evening alone, with only the image of Daniel Graydons defiled body for company.
Hours later Sean arrived home exhausted but wide awake, the worst possible combination. He was in need of a strong drink, something that would instantly slow his mind and body without filling his bladder. If sleep came he didnt want it chased away by having to get up to urinate.
Kate had waited up for him. He wished she hadnt. He didnt want to talk. He wanted a drink, a sandwich, and to watch some trash on TV. He passed the living room where his wife sat, speaking into the room as he headed for the kitchen. Its only me.
After a few seconds Kate followed him into the kitchen. Youre back late, she said, her tone neutral.
Im sorry, Sean replied, conscious that he seemed to be saying that more and more. You know what its like when I get a new case-first few days are always a nightmare.
A nightmare for who? Kate asked, her words more provocative than she had intended.
I dont know, Sean answered. For me? For you? For the guy whos just had his skull smashed in, dead before his lifes even started? For his parents, who have to come to terms with the fact that their only child is gone and never coming back?
An oppressive silence gripped the room. Kate took a breath. Are you okay?
Sean accepted the truce. Yeah. Of course. Im tired and grumpy, thats all. Sorry. Are the kids asleep?
Its after eleven. What sort of mother would I be if they werent? She moved toward him. He had his back to her while he looked around for a glass. She put her arms around his waist. He was in good shape for a man in his late thirties. He had the physique of a middleweight boxer, a legacy from his teenage years. The sport had been one of the things that had kept him out of trouble while too many of his childhood friends turned to a life of crime. Im glad youre home, she said. He leaned back into her.
Im glad too. Sorry. I should have called. Must have lost track of time. Hows Mandy? Will she forgive me?
Well, shes only three. Youve plenty of time to make it up. But never mind little Miss Mandy. What about me? How are you going to make it up to me?
Sean was smiling slightly. Ill buy you a bunch of flowers.
Not good enough, Detective Inspector. I was thinking of something a bit more immediate and a lot more fun.
Kate led him to the stairs and made for their bedroom. As Seans foot reached the top step he heard a voice coming from Mandys room.
Daddy.
He looked apologetically at his wife. Id better stick my head in, he whispered.
Kate slipped her shirt off, her brown skin shining in the semidarkness. Dont be long, she said. I might fall asleep.
Sean quietly entered Mandys room, the night-light illuminating a small pajama-clad figure. She grinned uncontrollably when she saw him. Daddy.
Hey, hey, sweetie. Youre supposed to be asleep, Sean reminded her.
I was waiting for you to come home, Daddy.
No, you mustnt do that, because sometimes Daddy doesnt get home until very late.
Why dont you get home till late, Daddy?
Now is not the time to talk about it, honey. Well talk about it tomorrow.
Mummy says youre catching bad men.
Does she? Sean said, not meaning it to be a question.
What have the bad men done, Daddy?
Nothing that you should be worried about, he lied. Go to sleep now. Daddy is here. Daddy is always here.
Sean found himself stroking her hair. He watched her eyes flicker shut, but even when he knew she was asleep he couldnt leave her. Kate would understand. He needed this-needed something to balance the horror of what he dealt with day in, day out. Needed something to suppress the darkness that always lurked just beneath the surface.
CHAPTER 7
There were three others before the little queer. Ive already told you about the solicitor type I stabbed in the heart. That means there are two Ive not mentioned.
The first was a young girl. Seventeen or eighteen. Id parked forty meters from the entrance to an abortion clinic. I didnt have to wait long. These places do a good trade.
This clinic was in Battersea. Quite far from where I live. It was a low-rise, modern sandstone building. Very discreet. It was not far from Battersea Rise. Close to Clapham Common. Nice in the summer. Lots of traffic though, and too many mahogany-skinned immigrants fleeing poverty, war, and starvation.
I knew exactly what I was waiting for, and then, there she was. It was a few weeks ago and wasnt as warm as it is now. She hurried along the pavement. Collar turned up against the mild chill as well as to hide her face. She entered the clinic with her head bowed.
I waited for her. A couple of hours and there she came. Hurrying back along the pavement. I could smell her shame. Probably a Catholic. I hope so.
I caught up with her soon enough, keeping pace, about five meters back. She was too trapped in her own private hell to feel my presence.
I was close enough to see her properly now. She was slightly built. Good. And she was clearly crying. Good. She was also alone. What type of young girl would come here alone? Simple. One who hasnt told anybody about her little problem. So Mummy and Daddy didnt know yet. She was perfect. All she needed to do was keep walking in the direction we were heading. Id already checked out several routes away from the clinic and most had possibilities. But there was a nice concealed railway line on this one, running under a bridge, hidden from the road above. Close to the scene of the Clapham railway disaster.
I was wearing a raincoat Id bought, with cash, from Marks amp; Spencer on Oxford Street a few months ago and hadnt worn until then. It was a common enough coat. Nothing special. Deliberately so. I also wore brand-new plain leather-soled mens shoes and had a pair of leather gloves nestled in one coat pocket. A large bin liner was stuffed into the other pocket.
I had to get the next bit exactly right, or this would be over before it began. We approached the break in the roadside wall that led down to the railway. I put the gloves on. I had to move fast now. Anyone around and this was off.
I ran the short distance between us and punched her as hard as I could in the center of her back. I felt her spine give way to my fist. I heard the air rush from her lungs. She couldnt make a sound. She dropped to her knees.
I grabbed her from behind and pulled her through the break in the wall. She was no match for me, but I couldnt risk being caught by a flailing arm. If she had scratched me, I would have cut her fingers off and taken them with me rather than make a present of my skin, my DNA, for the police.
The way down to the railway lines was exactly what Id been looking for. I discovered it a while ago when I was out scouting for good spots. The bank fell away steeply, but not so steeply as to stop you walking down. But the best bit was that up against the arch of the bridge there was a concrete ledge, a meter wide, on the ground. Past that there was only soil and dust. It meant I could make the girl walk on the soil, hence leaving her footprints, while I walked on the concrete in my plain shoes, leaving none. It would appear as if shed walked the last walk of her pitiful life alone.